UnRiddling the Labyrinth
by MarchionessDeCarabas
Summary: Four years after Sarah defeated the labyrinth and its king she finds herself unexpectedly whisked back to the center of it. Stubbornly, she sets to work finding her way out again while Jareth tries everything he can think of to make her stay.
1. Moonlight and Midsummer

Chapter One: Moonlight and Midsummer

Sarah rolled over in her bed and stared with exasperation at her alarm clock. The luminescent dials remained obstinately stuck at 2:15. She sighed, rolled onto her back and switched her stare to the ceiling. She had recently returned home after her first year at Boston University where she had been up till all hours every night either working on homework or talking with friends. Now she was having trouble adjusting her sleeping patterns. Even though it was only early June the summer was proving to be a hot one and she didn't want to waste the cool hours of the early morning by sleeping in. Besides, her family usually ate breakfast early and she wanted to be up in time to help her harassed stepmother with feeding the twins. With these laudable goals she had marched up to bed at ten o'clock and determinedly switched off the light. And here she still lay, watching the rotating blades of the sluggishly turning fan. Her room was just under the eaves of the old farmhouse and although she had opened her tiny window as far as she could it was still almost unbearably stuffy. By the time it was cool enough to sleep it would probably be morning, Sarah reflected ruefully.

Glancing back at the clock she saw that it was now 2:17. How was it possible for time to move so slowly? She closed her eyes and reached a sudden decision – this wasn't working and it was time to try something else. She sat up, briskly swinging her bare feet down onto the floor. Walking across the darkened room she kept her arms stretched out in front of her. At her old house in New York she had known every inch of her room, but during the school year her family had moved to this New England farmhouse and this was her first night here. She managed to find her way across the room without stubbing her toes, and she switched on the lamp on her desk. Fumbling in the drawer she found her old pink plastic flashlight and turned it on. It cast a doubtful glow. The batteries were obviously less than robust, but Sarah optimistically decided that it would be good enough. She switched the lamp off again and then tip-toed to her bed and bundled up the afghan that was draped over the footboard. Next she stopped at the bookshelf that had been wedged into the corner of the room under the sloping ceiling and, after some reflection, selected _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ from among the well-worn titles.

Creeping downstairs Sarah tried to make as little noise as possible. The old staircase seemed to creak loudly in the silent house no matter how carefully she placed her feet. Finally she reached the bottom. It took her a few minutes to loosen the bolt on the front door. Her parents might live surrounded by Massachusetts farm country now, but they were still in the habit of locking up every night. Eventually the bolt slid back and Sarah opened the door and slipped out.

A cool breeze greeted her. Looking up she could see swathes of stars glittering far brighter than the stars of the city. She swept her long, dark hair back over her shoulder and trotted around the corner of the house. She already had a destination in mind. On the far side of the big field behind the house there was a huge old barn. It was empty and weather-beaten, but it was still solid enough to be safe. When she had arrived that afternoon with a car-full of boxes to unpack, Toby had given her no rest until she had accompanied him out to the field to see his "secret fort." Toby had turned five recently and was at just the age where having a place of his own to play, away from his baby siblings, was appealing. Sarah could appreciate this sentiment: she had had similar feelings about Toby when he was the twins' age. His mother, Karen, allowed him to play in the barn with the stipulation that he stay out of the loft, a rule which he grudgingly obeyed.

Sarah was under no such restriction. When she reached the barn she went in – draping the blanket over one shoulder and clamping the book under her chin – and lightly mounted the ladder. She was just reaching for the sixth rung when she felt a slight tug on the blanket. It was hooked on something. Gingerly, she reached down and tried to work it free. It was caught on a rusty old nail that was sticking out of one of the ladder's uprights, and it wasn't coming loose. Sarah grunted in frustration. Finally, she gave up trying to disentangle the yarn from the nail head and just tugged at the nail itself. It was loose, and on the third try she got it out, nearly dropping her book in the process. She extricated the nail head from the fringe of the afghan and, after a moment's thought, slipped it into the pocket of her pajamas. It was better not to litter the barn floor with rusty sharps – Toby was very fond of running around in bare feet, to Karen's everlasting dismay.

The loft was much cooler than her bedroom. In one place in the sloping roof there was a ragged window-sized hole where a large branch had fallen through a few years before. The hole was just about waist height. Breezes and moonlight came through the opening. Sarah could see the stars of the milky-way stretched out against the night sky with a waxing moon in the foreground. She settled down on the floor of the loft, sitting on the blanket and leaning against a convenient hay bale. By the wan light of her flashlight she began to read. _Midsummer_ was an old friend of hers. She had once played Peaseblossom in a middle school production. In high school she had performed it again, this time in the coveted role of Titania. She smiled, remembering. A lot of girls had auditioned that day, partially because Titania got to wear a long, strapless, peacock-blue gown with a train, and mostly because Oberon was played by the most sighed-after boy in school. Mrs. Andrews had said that she gave Sarah the part because she was the only girl who sounded the least bit sincere about foreswearing his bed and company. Sarah started reading the play at a comfortable pace, picturing her classmates' renditions of Hermia, Lysander, Helena, Demetrius, Peter Quince, and Bottom the Weaver. She grinned, reading the lines of the mischievous Puck, and remembering the exuberant damsel who had played that role. She had dyed her hair pink because (she said) she pictured Puck having pink hair. Her explanation did not impress the principal who had compelled her to follow dress code and dye it back again.

Sarah was growing drowsier. She was reading more slowly, stretched out on the floor with her head propped against her arm. She had just come to her first scene. Oberon and Titania had discovered each other in the wood "Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania . . . ." The book slipped from her hand as she finally dozed off.

Toby wasn't the only one who used the barn as a refuge. There were a couple of kids from the neighborhood who also looked on it as their own property, although they came at different times and for a very different reason. Max Duggins was the one who had first come up with the idea for a secret club (shortly after seeing the Dead Poet's Society). Sam Potter, who secretly wished that _he_ had been the one who thought of it, had asked with a touch of scorn what the point of this "secret club" was to be. Max had immediately suggested the most scandalous and (he hoped) coolest thing he could think of: smoking. The other kids were duly impressed and (even more satisfying) Sam was left at a loss, and so the plan had proceeded. The first meeting of the Smoker's Anonymous Club (the name was suggested by Annie Thatch, who imperfectly understood the purpose of "Anonymous" associations) had been about a week and a half ago. Aaron Michaels had swiped a pack of cigarettes from his mom's purse and they had all dutifully smoked them in relative silence in the barn, trying not to let each other see how sick they felt. Max had doggedly proposed another meeting, and no one else had wanted to be the one to veto the plan, so at 3:00 am that night they all arrived and congregated in the barn, speaking in whispers. This time Sam was the one to provide the cigarettes, and everyone reluctantly took one and lit it. The smoking proceeded in glum silence until Ramona Phelps, who had been turning progressively greener by the minute, suddenly dropped her cigarette and clapped a hand over her mouth, rushing headlong out of the barn. With every evidence of relief, the others thankfully stubbed out their own cigarettes and followed Ramona. No third meeting was proposed, and the Smoker's Anonymous Club died a peaceful death. All except for Ramona's cigarette butt, glowing in a bed of straw. That was very much alive.


	2. An Excuse to Try Again

Chapter Two: An Excuse to Try Again

Jareth, King of the Goblins, was bored – an occurrence that had become ever more frequent in the last few years, unfortunately for his hapless subjects. Occasionally he was able to find distraction in some activity, but eventually he always came back to the same foul mood. Drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne, he glared with narrowed eyes at the curious thirteen-houred clock hanging on the opposite wall. Unlike Sarah, he wasn't wishing that time would move faster. He could make _that_ happen himself if he wanted to. He could also, if he chose, make it move more slowly. But what was the point to speeding time on? There was nothing to speed it _toward_. Immortality had its disadvantages, and Jareth's curse was that nothing seemed to hold his attention anymore – he'd seen it all, or nearly all of it. He scowled at the clock and the problem it represented. The problem was that, for all his manipulations of the forward march of time, all his power would not suffice to move it backwards, and the only thing he wanted, the only challenge that had stirred his interest in centuries, was in the past. Moving time forward would only take him farther from what he desired, and for that reason he had let it crawl by for four, slow years. Moodily he switched his gaze to the window where the bizarre constellations of the underground twinkled and danced. He watched them sourly for a minute and then, goaded beyond endurance, he plucked a smooth, glassy sphere out of thin air and looked into its depths, searching. It only took him a moment to find her.

She was sleeping; curled up somewhere dark that didn't look like the bedroom where he had seen her before. She was wearing a very practical looking set of blue cotton pajamas, and her dark hair was spread out on the floor where she lay. There was a book lying beside her. Jareth smiled, despite himself. He hadn't looked at her in nearly a year. It was too frustrating. How very characteristic it was that she would have a book as a sleeping companion. How very irritating it was that she could look so peaceful, cheerful even, when he himself was so far from content. If he could just have one more try he was sure he could win. But she owed him nothing, and she would ask nothing of him. He had no right to intrude on her life again, and he knew he would never be invited. He had no power over her. Perhaps she had forgotten her thirteen hours in the Labyrinth already. If she hadn't yet it was very likely that she soon would. Mortals didn't seem to hold the whimsical, baffling, sense-defying enigma that was the Labyrinth in their memories very well – although if anyone could it would be Sarah. With a bitter sigh he prepared to dismiss the crystal to the nothing from which it had come when something made him sit up and look more closely. The next moment both Jareth and the crystal had vanished – he had found his excuse, and the game was back on.

Sarah woke, fuzzily. It was so _hot_. Why was it so hot? She struggled up into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes and trying to make sense of her surroundings. Then the thing which had been demanding her attention for the past few minutes finally made it to the forefront of her awareness. Smoke. She could smell smoke. As the mist cleared from her eyes she could see it curling up through the floor of the loft and filling the space beyond it. There was an orange light too, glowing between the cracks in the floor, and a loud crackling sound filled the air. Sarah could feel the heat radiating from beneath her. Her eyes were streaming, and her chest was racked with deep coughs as the smoke grew thicker. Terror gripped her. The barn was on fire and she had no way out. Peering over the edge of the loft she could see that the lower parts of the barn were a raging inferno, and as she watched, the ladder, the lower rungs of which were already engulfed in flames, toppled to the floor far below. Sobbing with fear she ran to the hole in the roof, knowing before she looked that it was too far to jump. She turned again to face the blazing interior of the barn, desperately searching for some means of escape. Behind her a white shape appeared out of the darkness. A barn owl, its ghostly wings outstretched swooped through the hole in the roof and into the glowing loft.

"Sarah."

She spun around staring wildly into the handsome, but decidedly other-worldly face of the man who had just materialized behind her.

"You! What are you doing here? What have you done?" There was a smile playing on his face. As unpromising as her greeting was, there was no doubt that she remembered him.

"Why Sarah, I'm hurt! Are you so unhappy to see me? I have done nothing. I am here to help you, if you wish it."

"To help me! When have you ever helped me? You have only ever tried to trick me! Why are you doing this?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Now Sarah, to use your own, so-charming refrain, that's not fair. I have nothing to do with your current predicament. I am only here to offer you a way out of it."

"Well then, if you're being so altruistic get me out of here!"

"Not so fast. Before I do that you must offer me something in return."

"No! No bargains! Not with you! I would rather jump off the roof!"

"Then by all means, do so. I won't stop you," he said, cordially, moving aside to let her approach the hole in the roof. She stared out, trying to nerve herself for a jump from what might prove to be a fatal height.

"Since you don't seem to be in any hurry perhaps you would care to hear my terms?" he said, smiling benignly.

"Shut up!"

"As you wish." She stared out once again, but her heart failed her. It was too far. "All right," she said, swinging around again. "What do you want?" He looked at her – hungrily, she thought.

"The same thing I wanted the last time we spoke. You do remember, don't you?" Of course she did. She still heard the words in her dreams sometimes.

_Fear me. Love me. Do as I say._

"You want power over me," she said, flatly. He inclined his head.

"I would make up your mind quickly if I were you," was all he said. Sarah didn't need the warning. The heat from beneath the floorboards was burning her bare feet. Her eyes were smarting from smoke, and another round of coughing racked her body. He took an involuntary step toward her, reaching out his hand, but she backed away.

"Never! You can't hurt me, and I won't be fooled by your tricks," she flung at him, savagely.

"Sarah," he said, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice "There is no trick. This fire is not of my contrivance. Even if I had the power to hurt you I have no desire to do so. I am offering you an escape from death. Won't you take it?" She shook her head, the same stubborn look on her face that he knew from four years ago. The loft floor shifted under her feet as the supports beneath it weakened.

"Sarah!" he said, almost pleadingly. "This is real. If you don't accept my help you are going to die. Don't you understand?" She had no chance to answer him because at that moment the supports on one side of the loft suddenly gave way. The floor collapsed, tilting crazily towards the ground, far below. Sarah lost her footing and felt herself sliding helplessly towards the raging furnace beneath. A wordless scream ripped itself from her throat. . .

. . . and Jareth effortlessly leaped forward. As he did his shape changed – outflung arms and rippling cloak seemed to blur together in a flurry of blinding white. The next moment an owl burst out of the blazing barn in an explosion of beating wings, one talon curled tightly around a tiny brown swallow. It had scarcely cleared the treetops before the barn collapsed in a roar of flames.


	3. The Round Room

Chapter Three: The Round Room

Sarah felt consciousness prying her away from the warm and comfortable darkness of sleep. She tried to resist it, curling up more tightly and burying her face in the soft blanket in which she was wrapped. Eventually, however she could no longer keep her mind in the pleasant state of blankness where it had been resting. Thoughts intruded, and she became aware of light shining in the room beyond her closed eyelids. She sighed. Sleep was too wonderful to last forever. Idly she wondered what time it was. She had probably overslept and missed breakfast despite all her good intentions. That being the case, it wouldn't hurt anything to lie here for a few moments more. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting to see the sloping ceiling of her own tiny bedroom under the eaves. Instead she saw a high, domed ceiling with curling patterns of intricate stonework carved into it. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind struggled to adjust to the unexpected proportions of the space she found herself in. Where was she? Where had she gone to sleep last night? The barn. Yes, she had gone to the barn last night, and she didn't remember leaving it, so she must have fallen asleep there. But what was this place? As she struggled to sit upright the memories flooded back with dizzying speed. Waking in the barn to heat and smoke and the deafening crackle of the flames. The sudden, almost uncontrollable panic. Had it been a nightmare? No, it was far too real. And then . . . Jareth. Yes, he had been there; the same dazzling, unearthly, maleficent Goblin King –mocking her terror, laying down his ultimatum, trying to trap her again, just as he had before. It was characteristic of him to appear, just when she was the most frightened and vulnerable, and try to twist the situation to serve his own ends. She had thought she had defeated him once and for all, but it seemed he wasn't to be so easily banished. Sarah suddenly found herself wondering if his appearances were to become a recurring menace, if the threat of his insatiable desire to control her was to hang over her for the rest of her life.

Even as these thoughts were unfurling in her brain, Sarah's eyes were moving all over the room trying to figure out where she was. It was a round room with, as she had noticed before, a domed ceiling soaring up thirty feet or more above her head. The room itself was quite large – perhaps forty feet in diameter. The bed she was sitting on was like the room itself in some ways. Like the ceiling it was made of intricately carved stone, but it was covered with a soft mattress under layers of silky coverings which were somewhere between the color of stone and the color of water. They had tones of grey, green, blue and purple. The bed was rounded – almost an oval – and it fit perfectly against the curve of the wall. It was also quite high – as she discovered when she looked down. It sat on a rounded stone dais with three shallow steps leading down to the floor. The floor itself was one great mosaic of slate tiles comprising wild shapes and unexpected patterns, all in muted tones of purplish, bluish, and greenish grey. The bed was the only piece of furniture visible. The light she had sensed upon waking shafted into the room from tall mullioned windows set at intervals all around its circumference. They alternated with wrought iron candle sconces bearing spherical blue and green candles – unlit. Directly across from where Sarah sat there was a large stone fireplace. That too was unlit, although there was a fire laid. More than anything else in the room, Sarah was intrigued by the figures carved into the fireplace. Forgetting for a moment the strangeness of her surroundings and the puzzle of how she had come to be here she swung her feet down to the dais, untangling herself from the blanket which was wrapped around her. It was warm but surprisingly light and silky, and when she pushed it away it slid to the floor like water flowing down a rock face.

The floor was cool and soothing to her feet, which still remembered too well the almost unbearable heat of the loft floor. Sarah approached the fireplace, staring at the fascinating shapes. The stone sides were carved in a pattern similar to that of the ceiling and floor, but the mantle was covered with representations of the intertwined bodies of gargoyles – some large, some small, no two alike. They all were shown in different attitudes of sleep. Sarah reached out a hand to touch one of the littlest ones. There was something familiar about them. They were . . . they were . . . not gargoyles. Goblins.

Sarah snatched her hand away as the one she had been about to touch suddenly opened its eyes. It let out a squeal of terror even as she jumped back in fright. Untangling itself from its fellows it scurried away from her, running with its stubby legs along the underside of the mantle, diving into the fireplace and disappearing up the chimney. In the process it woke many of the other goblins which, upon seeing Sarah, all reacted with various expressions of exaggerated panic. Soon a mini riot and mass exodus from the mantelpiece was occurring before Sarah's startled eyes. Goblins were pushing and shoving and running in several directions at once. Evidently the single-minded purpose of every one of them was to flee her terrifying presence by the only available egress. One or two of the smaller goblins had wings and vanished up the chimney in a twinkling. The others were left to scramble up as best they were able. Some of the more agile ones clambered up the bare rock. Others climbed up using each other as hand and footholds. A few of them used their peers as a means of transport. One of the larger goblins fought his way up with no fewer than five smaller ones clinging to his back. In less than half a minute they were all gone.

The spectacle was actually a rather comical one, but the humor was lost to Sarah. The blood had drained from her face, and she could feel herself shaking. She knew where she was now. It should have been obvious from the beginning. Other than the presence of the goblins the room was not in any way reminiscent of anything she had encountered here before, but of course that meant nothing. Familiarity and predictability were the last things to expect here. The bizarre, the confusing, and above all, the unexpected—these were the hallmarks of this place. As if to seal her worst fears she saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and whirled to find Jareth, his arms folded, leaning against the wall in the shadow of the fireplace. Had he been there the whole time, her mind demanded? Jareth straightened up, moving out of the shadows and resting one gloved hand on the now vacant mantelpiece. He smiled his dazzling smile. His eyes glittered unpleasantly.

"Welcome back to the Labyrinth, Sarah."


	4. Where's the Door?

Phew! This chapter came out long! I think I'm going to have to give myself some time to recover from the exertion - and to do some writing of a more academic nature. 15 page lab report due Thursday. Goody. Perhaps I should mention that I don't own the Labyrinth, Sarah, or Jareth. I appreciate reviews. I can even take a little criticism, so if you have a moment it would be nice if you would write me a short note and let me know what you think. Oh yes. There is a footnote in this chapter and it's rather important, so if you suddenly feel like you missed something, look for the asterisk and the foot-note at the bottom of the page will, I hope, make everything clear. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Four: Where's the Door?

She gaped at him, her mind struggling furiously to grasp what had happened. She was back in the Labyrinth. He had brought her back. How _dare_ he? Finally, she found her voice.

"You! You . . . I said no! You have no power over me! You have no right!" She was furious, shaking with anger. Her voice trembled with it and her eyes flashed. He admired the effect while she continued berating him, glaring up at him with her hands clenched in the long, blue sleeves of her pajamas. "You _kidnapped _me! I told you I wouldn't—I told you I'd rather jump off the roof!"

"But you didn't, did you Sarah? If I hadn't pulled you out you would have died a very dramatically unpleasant death in that barn. I doubt if there would've been anything left to bury."

"But I said no! I never gave you the right!"

"On the contrary, I distinctly heard you say the words 'get me out of here.' Which I did. Would you really rather I hadn't?"

"But you said you wouldn't unless . . ."

"What of it? What cause do you have to abuse me if I chose to be generous and extract you without receiving anything in return?"

"Generous!" she choked with an expression of disgust.

"Yes, generous! Let me inform you Sarah that I am not in the habit of doing something for nothing. In fact," he added meditatively "this may have been the first time. And you certainly aren't inspiring me with any great desire to continue the trend."

"And I suppose it was _generous_ to drag me back to the Labyrinth!" Sarah demanded with heavy sarcasm.

"Why not? You never specified _where_ you wanted me to take you, so _I_ chose the destination."

"Well I'm specifying it now! Take me back home at once!" she commanded. He raised his eyebrows and looked down at her, haughtily.

"What exactly makes you think you're in a position to make demands?" he asked.

"You have no power over me!"

"Yes, yes, I know. You've alluded to the fact several times. Is it supposed to impress me?" She frowned at him, at a loss.

"You have no right to keep me here!"

"That doesn't mean that I am duty-bound to take you home. You see Sarah, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander: you have no power over me either." For the first time Sarah paused, considering. She was still fuming inside, but her reason chimed in, asserting the unwelcome fact that he was right.

"But . . . you won't keep me from leaving?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Does this look like a dungeon? Have I wrapped you in chains?" he returned, mildly. Sarah looked around the room again. Whatever else it was it was certainly no dungeon. It was more like a queen's bedchamber. But . . . her eyes narrowed as one heretofore unnoticed feature of the room suddenly came to her attention.

"Where's the door?" He glanced around, as if looking at the room for the first time.

"Dear me, that appears to be an amenity this room lacks. How very unfortunate." Sarah itched to slap his smug face.

"Jareth," she said, fiercely, using his name for the first time. "I'm not yours to keep. You have to let me go." He looked at her with an expression she could not read.

"Perhaps," he said. "But you didn't really think I'd make it easy for you did you? You know better."

"But there is a way out?" she pressed. An expression of exasperation crossed his face.

"You never give up, do you? Yes, Sarah, in the Labyrinth there is always a way out. But why should you hurry? You have all the time in the world. You left so precipitously last time that I never had the chance to show you my hospitality. You must be hungry, and as charming as you look I'm sure you would appreciate a change of clothing. Allow me."

With a lazy flick of his wrist he conjured a trio of orbs from the air. Sarah flinched. Jareth's globes of crystal were all too familiar, and in her experience their appearances were usually a sign that something unpleasant was about to happen. He took no notice of her reaction and released the crystals into the air. Lazily, they glided away, each coming to rest in a different part of the room.

Where the first orb touched the ground a great silver tub appeared. Tendrils of steam rose from it, filling the air with the scent of hyacinths. Beside it stood a low stone table, covered with an array of crystal bottles, several fluffy white towels, and a graceful silver comb.

The second orb landed a short distance from the first, and in the place where it touched there suddenly stood a heavy, dark wardrobe of carved wood with long, oval mirrors on the doors.

The third orb produced an oval table, stone, like the other. This one supported enough food to feed twenty hungry Sarahs. There were silver dishes with silver covers, platters of fragrant bread and flaky pastries, bowls of jewel-toned fruit, tall silver flagons, and crystal goblets. A regal looking chair with a high back and scrolled arms was pulled up invitingly. The smell wafting from the table made Sarah suddenly dizzy with hunger. She took a step toward it, almost unaware that she was doing so, then stopped, uncertain. She turned back, intending to demand what he was up to, but found herself alone. The Goblin King was gone.

Sarah's indecision lasted only a moment. The sight and smell of the food were overpowering, and she realized that she hadn't eaten since dinner the night before. Whenever that was. Knowing Jareth, a hunger strike was unlikely to impress him, and she didn't think she would have the strength to resist eating anyway. She was going to need all her strength and energy if she was going to find her way back out of the Labyrinth, and who knew when she would get to eat again? There was no guarantee that Jareth would be in a giving mood again anytime in the near future, especially once she'd found her way out of this stupid room.

She walked over to the table and lifted the nearest silver cover. Under it there was a roasted fowl of some kind that she couldn't identify but which, given Jareth's extravagant taste, she strongly suspected was pheasant. Seizing the nearby knife she started carving bits off at random and eating them with her fingers, not bothering with the plate and impressive contingent of forks which had been provided for her use. It was beyond delicious.

Lifting another cover she found a tureen of some kind of fragrant soup. She ladled it out into a convenient crystal bowl, located the soup spoon from the lineup of its fellows, and began eating it with enthusiasm. It was lovely – a creamy, buttery flavor that reminded her of the pumpkin soup that she used to make on chilly autumn evenings.

By her elbow there was a platter of soft rolls, dripping with butter. She snatched one and dipped it in the soup. It melted in her mouth. When it was gone she licked her fingers. Next, a bowl of fruit caught her eye. She reached out and grabbed the first one that came to her hand. It was a pomegranate*.

She dropped it as if it had bit her. It fell to the ground and rolled away, across the floor, settling to a stop just in front of the fireplace. Sarah's appetite was gone and her throat felt dry. The food smelled as wonderful as before, and the silver and crystal shone as brightly, but the whole effect was suddenly menacing rather than enticing. Belatedly she remembered the last time she had eaten Jareth's food. She waited tensely for something to happen, half expecting to find herself swept into another of his glittering, intoxicating, and decidedly sinister fabrications, but several minutes passed and nothing happened.

Slowly, she released the breath that she had been holding. Perhaps she had been lucky. Maybe the food was just food. Still, she felt no desire to eat anything more, thinking of what could have happened. At that moment she realized that, although she was no longer hungry, she was terribly thirsty. She struggled with herself for a moment. She was afraid to drink anything, but how could she not? Escaping the Labyrinth might take her much longer than thirteen hours this time. She might have days of wandering ahead of her. She would have to drink _something_ if she was here for long, and the food didn't seem to have done her any harm.

Hesitantly, she picked one of the silver flagons and looked at its contents. It was a deep, red wine. She put it back. While drinking might be an acceptable risk she was fairly certain that drinking goblin wine was not. She couldn't even begin to guess what effect it might have on her. The second flagon contained a mellow, golden-hued wine, but the third was full of clear, cold water. Sarah poured some into a crystal goblet and sipped it, apprehensively. It was ice cold and pure-tasting. With a shrug of sheer fatalism she recklessly gulped the rest. As before, nothing happened.

Her thirst satisfied, Sarah looked around the room, ready to plan her next move. There weren't many options. Lacking a door the next most logical possibility for escape was a window. She walked over to the nearest one and looked out. The half-baked idea she had been revolving in her mind about tying bed sheets together and climbing down died a sudden and very final death.

It was growing dark outside, but there was enough light for her to see that it was a very, very long way down. If she unraveled every sheet on the bed and tied the threads together she still doubted they would reach to the ground. The height was dizzying. She could see clouds drifting below where she stood. The ground itself was so far away that she couldn't even guess what she was looking at. She was sure that when she had seen the goblin city and Jareth's castle from outside the Labyrinth four years ago there had been no towers anywhere near this high, but of course she could hardly expect things to make sense here.

Whether the distance she saw was real or not, Sarah couldn't guess, but she knew she'd never have the courage to test it by attempting an escape from the window. She hadn't been able to jump from the barn when the alternative was burning alive, and the height of this tower was great enough to make the barn seem about as tall as a park bench in comparison. Besides, the ornate window mullions were made of iron and firmly anchored. They might as well have been prison bars.

Without any very real sense of hope Sarah went around the room, looking out of each window in turn. They all offered the same impossible vista. Jareth had said that there was always a way out in the Labyrinth, but Sarah was convinced that it would not be by any of the windows. She retreated back to the center of the room, frowning. Looking around her for inspiration her gaze lighted on the wardrobe, and her curiosity was stirred. She walked back toward it, ignoring the bath tub which was evidently as hot as ever (it was still steaming away in a very improbable fashion). She flung the doors of the wardrobe open and stared.

Knowing Jareth, she had expected quantities of beautiful clothes, but she was dazzled despite herself. There were dozens of gowns of all different colors. She reached in and pulled out the nearest one. It was a long and slender dark-blue evening gown with a high waist and tiny sparkling stones sewn all over it. After admiring it for a minute, Sarah replaced it and selected another one, an emerald-green dress with trailing sleeves and an elaborate pattern of tiny birds and flowers sewn in gold thread around its generous neckline.

The third dress Sarah withdrew from the wardrobe was an icy silver ball gown with a richly embroidered bodice, billowy sleeves, and skirt so long and full that she had to gather it up with one arm to keep it from trailing on the floor. This gown was . . . familiar. Sarah thrust it back into the wardrobe, flushing. Why had he put _that_ in there? Her brief fantasy of dancing with a resplendent and sensuous Jareth in a crowded crystal ballroom was not something she wanted to relive. She had tried her best to forget it. She didn't even allow herself to wonder whether it was his fantasy or hers. It was . . . embarrassing, and foolish.

Inside the wardrobe, on the left-hand side was a column of drawers with gleaming gold handles. She pulled the topmost one open. It was full of glittering jewelry arranged against a black velvet background. There were gold and silver rings, earrings, bracelets and bangles adorned, no, _encrusted_ with all kinds of precious stones: diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and many more besides. Sarah shut it and opened the next drawer, which was laden with necklaces: silver and gold chains, delicate filigree pendants, and collars of glistening jewels. The third drawer yielded an assortment of jeweled hair pins and clips. There was also a tiara of worked silver, set with clear diamonds, mystic opals, and milky pearls. The fourth drawer contained nothing but silk stockings and several pairs of long, white evening gloves. Sarah gritted her teeth.

"There must be _something_ practical in here," she muttered.

The fifth drawer, she was mortified to find, was full of what her stepmother delicately termed "unmentionables." She slammed it shut with unnecessary force, feeling her face reddening.

Opening the sixth and final drawer with a sense of trepidation she found a pair of loose, brown trousers and a plain, loose-sleeved green tunic with a leather belt.

"Finally!" she grunted, with satisfaction. Rummaging around at the bottom of the wardrobe amidst high-heeled shoes and delicate dancing slippers she unearthed a pair of sturdy, ankle-high, leather boots with a pair of equally sturdy woolen stockings rolled up inside them.

She stood up, clutching her armful of clothes, and paused, considering. Although she was alone she felt constrained. The room might be far too elevated for her to need to worry about someone peering in, but the tall, uncovered windows still made her feel too exposed for comfort. In the end she pulled a sheet off of the bed and stood behind the wardrobe, wrapping the sheet around herself and knotting the corners together over one shoulder. Under this covering she struggled as best she could out of her pajamas and into the new clothes. Next, she pulled on the stockings and boots – which fit perfectly. From force of habit, she reached for the discarded pajamas– Karen had never tolerated clothes on the floor. As she shook the wrinkles out of her wadded-up pajama bottoms, something fell from one of the pockets with a soft "ting" and skittered away across the floor. Intrigued, she followed, and picked it up. It was the nail from the barn that had caught her blanket. Well, Sarah thought wryly, in the absence of anything more appropriately sentimental, it could serve as a talisman of home. She was just tucking it into the pocket of her tunic when she heard a whirring sound.

The shadows had been lengthening in the room, and a setting sun was visible through one of the many windows. It was starting to grow dark. Sarah peered around the edge of the wardrobe and saw a goblin, an ugly little winged-creature with yellow eyes. It was panting and darting around the room so quickly that at first Sarah could scarcely see what it was doing. Then she realized that it was toting a second, chubby, and decidedly self-important looking goblin. The second goblin was holding a lighted taper, and the first was carrying it around the room so that it could light the round candles in the iron sconces that Sarah had noticed before. She watched, bemused for a moment, and then decided that friendly overtures were at least worth a try. Approaching the odd pair in what she hoped was an unthreatening manner she cleared her throat and said:

"Excuse me . . . ." She didn't get any further. The self-important goblin had just finished lighting the last candle. It gave her a nasty look and made a very rude-sounding noise. The winged goblin flapped away from her and then the two of them disappeared up the chimney together, just as the goblins from the mantelpiece had done earlier.

Sarah shrugged and started to turn away, then stopped. A sudden idea had struck her. The chimney. Everything that had either entered or exited the room, with the exception of Jareth, seemed to use the chimney as an access point. Perhaps _that _was the way Jareth had hinted at. Considering how high up she was it seemed absurd to think of going higher, but still . . . this _was _the Labyrinth. Walking to the fireplace she poked her head in and looked upward. Was that a speck of light? She rubbed her eyes then looked again. Yes, there was light somewhere up there. She was certain of it. Examining the walls of the chimney she found them surprisingly rough, and here and there the stone protruded, offering what might serve as a foothold.

Sarah took a deep breath. Climbing had been a hobby of hers in high school, but she had never attempted a climb as steep and long as this one promised to be, and she knew that she was out of practice after a year of intense academia. Still, it was worth a try. It was the only thing she had _left_ to try. She ducked all the way into the fireplace and braced her back against one wall. After a few false starts she managed to get a foot each planted against the walls on her right and left. With her arms stretched out so that she had a palm against each wall she started to climb, moving one limb at a time. At first it was slow going, but as she got to the place where the chimney became narrower she was able to wedge herself more securely and apply more force to each side. Staring fixedly upward toward the growing point of light and resolutely refusing to look down she edged her way up, foot by foot, leaving the round room behind her.

*In case you don't know the story, the Greek god Hades (aka Pluto) trapped Persephone, the girl he loved (and whom he had kidnapped) into staying with him in the underworld by giving her a pomegranate. Her mother, the goddess Ceres (goddess of the earth, grain, harvest, agriculture, etc.) went on strike, so Zeus forced Hades to return Persephone to her mother. Unfortunately for her (or perhaps fortunately, depending on your perspective) Persephone had eaten a quarter of the pomegranate and so she was required to return to the underworld for three months out of every year during which time Ceres mourns her loss, with the depressing result that we have to endure three months of bleak, barren, freezing, horrible winter. Stupid Persephone. It's ALL HER FAULT! Anyway, I thought the parallel was just too perfect to pass up, so here it is, my not-so-subtle allusion to classical literature. But no, Sarah is not going to eat the pomegranate. She's a smart girl and well versed in her Greco/Roman myths. Jareth should have known better than to think she'd fall for THAT one.


	5. Going down?

Here 'tis! The fifth chapter. Sorry it took so long. I have a host of excuses, starting with the sudden trigger-happiness of my wonderful immune system which necessitated me spending a sizable chunk of spring break in a benadryl-induced haze. I also got Sarah into a bit of a hole in the last chapter and it took me a while to figure out how to get her out of it again, but that's the wonderful thing about the Labyrinth: anytime you get your characters into a sticky situation you can just tweak the rules and you're back on track. Hopefully I won't take quite so long to get to the next installment, but then, it _is_ finals season. I will try _really_ hard to wrap things up before I leave for Sudan this summer.

Oh yeah. Sarah, Jareth, and the Labyrinth are all the brain-children of Jim Hensen (may he rest in peace) and none of 'em belong to me. Enjoy!

Chapter Five: Going . . . down?

Jareth smiled, ruefully. Sarah was proving to be just as stubborn and single-minded as ever. Most mortals were easily distracted by his gifts, on the rare occasions when he chose to give them. He knew how to play upon greed and the human fascination with things that glittered. A shiny bauble or a gilded mirror was usually sufficient to keep most of them enthralled for ages – particularly vain young women, most of whom had not one tenth the reason for vanity that Sarah had. But they were dull creatures, and he always lost interest in them long before they had lost interest in what he had to offer. This time he had really exerted himself. He wanted to thoroughly entrance her and make her forget escape. For a short time, watching her, he thought he had succeeded. Then, inexplicably, she had pulled free again.

In some ways it was unsurprising. The first time they met he had offered her one of his most potent and irresistible entrapments: her own dreams, crystallized. At the time he had judged that this would be the decoy most likely to tempt her so that he could make off with her brother, unhindered. She was, after all, a dreamy thing who spent her time casting herself in the roles of damsel, sorceress, fairy, and warrior princess in one fantasy after another, as far removed from reality as possible. For a girl of that kind there could be nothing so desirable as to tangibly possess her own dreams and experience them as reality. And she _had_ desired it. He had seen it in her eyes. But then she had rejected her dreams for the sake of her baby brother – her baby _step_ brother. Such self-denial was unprecedented in Jareth's experience of mortals, and it had piqued his interest.

He had watched her rifling through the wardrobe, ignoring the silks and jewels. On a whim he had provided the trousers, tunic, and boots. If she didn't find what she wanted she was perfectly capable of setting off to defeat the Labyrinth in her blue cotton pajamas and bare feet, and while that would have been amusing he chose to accord her a little dignity.

It took her a little while, but inevitably she homed in on the chimney. Not only was she nearly impossible to enthrall, she was also pretty smart. Unfortunately, the same qualities that made her fascinating made her difficult to contain. Jareth dismissed his gazing crystal and started making rearrangements of space and distance. She had beaten his first challenge. It was time to switch strategies.

Sarah's arms were starting to ache. She squinted upward and noted with satisfaction that the patch of light was bigger. She was getting closer – never a guarantee in the Labyrinth. She stuck out the tip of her tongue in concentration while her left foot searched for a point of traction on a particularly smooth bit of wall. She was just turning her head, craning her neck to the side to locate a foothold, when it happened.

There was a swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach and her hair seemed to stand on end. She nearly blacked out as a sudden wave of dizziness made her senses spin. Her feet lost their hold and her knees buckled. All at once her arms were bearing an unexpected weight which pushed her irresistibly _up_. It was if a great force was dragging her toward that patch of light. She found herself sliding and instinctively clawed at the walls, pushing against them with all her strength, trying to slow her sudden and rapid ascent. No . . . descent. As she tumbled it suddenly dawned on her that she was falling _down_. The force that was pulling at her was gravity, only it seemed to have suddenly switched allegiances.

The fall was a short one. Sarah scarcely had time to realize what was happening before she landed in a heap on something hard and cold, with the wind completely knocked out of her. She lay there for a moment with her eyes closed, struggling to draw a breath, waiting for her rapidly beating pulse to slow and waiting for shooting pains to announce that she had broken something. She became aware that there was a loud commotion building in the space around her, but she ignored it for a moment, cautiously tensing each limb in turn. She felt bruised, but surprisingly nothing seemed to be badly hurt. Opening her eyes she was greeted with the sight of a speck of light far above. She was lying on her back in a fireplace, staring up the chimney once again. Gingerly, she sat up, looking around and trying to take in this new room. She found it unexpectedly familiar.

Like the room Sarah had just left, this one was round, but it was somewhat smaller and infinitely more cluttered. There were goblins of every description in every nook and cranny. No two were even remotely alike: small and large, fat and thin, with bulbous yellow eyes and beady green ones. Some had horns and fangs and some lacked them. There were some with beak-like noses and bat ears and others with pig-snouts and no ears at all. Some were hairy, others scaly, others rubbery and bloated. They littered the floor and the shallow stone pit in the center of the room. They perched on ledges and pedestals and in the round and oblong windows set haphazardly in the immense stone walls. They were the source of the commotion she heard. The air was filled with their yammering, gibbering, muttering, squealing, and yelping. They were all staring at her in various degrees of astonishment with expressions ranging from uneasy bovine stupidity to unconcealed alarm and abject terror. Many of them were darting nervous glances toward the far side of the room where their king reclined in a heavy wooden horseshoe chair set upon a stone dais.

Jareth wasn't looking at her. He appeared to be completely relaxed; leaning back with his shoulders propped against one of the chair's curving arms and the ankle of his booted left foot resting on the other while his right foot dangled lazily toward the floor. He was holding up his elegantly gloved left hand and gazing at the back of his wrist, apparently admiring the flawless lace of his cuff. Having finished his inspection he unhurriedly turned his head to study her. He seemed neither surprised nor particularly interested to find her kneeling in his fireplace. After coolly looking her up and down for a minute he transferred his gaze to the perfection of his polished boots.

Sarah looked away from him, avoiding his eyes. She smoothed back her tousled hair and rose slowly to her feet, brushing ancient soot from her knees. As she stepped out of the fireplace into the room the goblins scuttled out of her way, eyes rolling with fear, whispering and hissing amongst themselves.

"It's Her!"

"Who?"  
"The Lady, stupid."

"What lady?"

"The Lady of the Labyrinth!"

"She came back?"

"When did she come back?"

"How?"

"Does He know?

"'Course he knows!"

"What'll He do?"

"Last time . . ."

"He was so angry . . ."

"Let's hide!"

It seemed that the majority of the goblins thought that this last idea had merit, because they disappeared with astonishing speed, either through the windows or through one of the archways that stood on either side of the dais. A few bold ones remained safely tucked away in the corners, curious to see what would happen, but prepared to flee at the first sign of Jareth's infamous temper. Silence fell.

Sarah felt uncomfortable. Jareth seemed to be pointedly ignoring her, and it was so unexpected that she didn't know how to respond. She decided that her best strategy would be to make it mutual. Deliberately turning her shoulder toward him she headed for the archway on the left.

His voice broke the silence.

"Sarah, don't be foolish." She stopped and looked back at him. His voice was expressionless, but his eyes met hers steadily and the glance was piercing. He continued.

"You think you know the Labyrinth. You don't. No mortal can. You will find it a different place than you remember. You will find it darker and more frightening than last time because last time you were only a child. You were brazen and naïve and your innocence protected you. You are older now, and less ignorant, which makes your confidence all the more foolish. You have never seen the Labyrinth at night. You have no idea what danger is lurking outside the walls of this castle. If you did, you would be terrified. You would be wise to stay here in my protection, at least until morning."

For a moment Sarah considered, puzzled by his manner. She was accustomed to his flattery and his threats and coercion, but this time he was . . . different. The urgency of his words was belied by the bland manner in which they were delivered. They could have been a threat, but when Jareth was purposefully trying to frighten her he usually sounded more, well, _frightening_. This sounded more like a genuine warning. For a moment she wondered if he could possibly be sincere. Perhaps there really were dangers in the Labyrinth that he couldn't control and wanted to protect her from. Maybe it would be wiser to wait until the night was past . . . but her mistrust of him ran deep. If she stayed till morning he would surely find a way to keep her longer – probably by making sure that morning never came. Better to face the dark Labyrinth than to risk being trapped here in his "protection." She straightened her shoulders and turned to face him.

"If you are so concerned for my safety, take me home." He made no reply, merely resumed his perusal of his boots. "That's what I thought," she said, and walked out through the archway.


	6. Lessons in Pain

This one is just a quickie. I had a couple reflections on the nature of the Labyrinth which may influence where I'm going with the story, so I put them into Sarah's brain for your edification. And now she is FINALLY out of the castle. I don't know about you, but I was beginning to wonder if that would _ever _happen.

Thanks to everyone who's read the story so far, and extra special thanks to everyone who's reviewed! It gives me the warm fuzzies every time I get a review :-D Usually people turn into the most complete jerks online when they know they can speak anonymously, but so far this website seems to be a jerk-free zone, and I am very grateful. That said, I _can _take criticism if there's anything you don't like. We could all use a little insight sometimes. hazlgrnLizzy has already given me some really helpful advice, and I would welcome more if anybody else wants to offer some. Okay, now I'll shut up.

Chapter Six: Lessons in Pain

Beyond the arch, Sarah found herself in a dim passage which snaked off into the gloom, lined with darkened doorways on both sides. As she walked down the corridor, Sarah peered through the arches that she passed. Some of them opened onto staircases winding upwards and downwards. Others led to more passages like the one she was on. Sarah didn't like the look of any of them. They felt . . . wrong. Fifty yards down the passageway she finally came to a window. Looking out she could discern little. The night seemed to be cloudy – she could see few stars, and the moon was pale and ghostly, wrapped in a misty shroud. Peering downward she could see nothing but darkness.

Sarah made up her mind quickly, and didn't allow herself second thoughts. Thinking too hard in the Labyrinth got you nowhere. It was enough to know that she needed to get out of the castle and that there was absolutely no reason to suppose that any of the doors she had passed or any of the ones that yawned ahead of her would take her anywhere but deeper into the maze. This window was the only escape she could see, and she was unlikely to find any other more promising one. Ignoring her suddenly clammy skin and the unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach she clambered up onto the sill, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, started counting to three and abruptly jumped on "two" before her common sense could veto what her gut told her was necessary.

For the space of two panicked heart-beats she plummeted, blindly. Then, with a jarring shock, her feet hit the ground. Immediately, her right ankle gave way and she pitched forward, throwing her arms out to catch her fall. Gravel bit savagely into her knees and the palms of her hands. She scrambled back to her feet, gasping as her ankle gave a sudden twinge. At the same time she became aware of something warm and wet on her hands. She peered down at them, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see the jagged scratches and the beading of blood where they had slid in the loose gravel.

Sarah stared at her hands in surprise, and then wondered why she was surprised. It suddenly dawned on her that she had never really gotten _hurt_ before in the Labyrinth. Tired, hungry, miserable, and frustrated yes, but she had never come to any physical harm. Of course there was that tiny fairy bite she had received in the very beginning, but that had been a mere nip, more startling than painful. Even her fall down the chimney had left her mysteriously undamaged considering how far she had fallen and where she had landed. By all rights she should have broken a bone or two, not walked away with a few minor bruises. Thoughtfully Sarah brushed away the gravel that had stuck in her scrapes. Jareth had warned her that things would be different this time – perhaps it had been something more than a scare tactic. She acknowledged to herself that she had been taking a lot for granted. Well, now she knew better.

Now that Sarah had had a moment to become accustomed to the darkness she could make out the shapes of crooked houses and crazily leaning towers stretching away into the distance. She was in the goblin city that surrounded the castle. Beyond that was the Labyrinth proper, and beyond that . . . home, she hoped. But was it? She wasn't even sure how she had gotten home last time. One moment she had been locked in a battle of wills with Jareth and the next she had been standing in her own front hall and Toby had been back in his crib upstairs.

Toby . . . what must he be thinking? What must they all be thinking? It seemed to have been a full day since she had crept out to the barn for some fresh air and starlight. Now she was missing and the barn must be a heap of ashes and blackened timbers. They must think she was dead . . . unless it hadn't been a full day. Time in the Labyrinth was a tricky thing, and it seemed to be under Jareth's control . . . in which case it was possible that by now everyone she had ever known had been dead for hundreds of years . . .

NO! She would not, she _would_ NOTallow herself to even _think_ like that. One way or another she was going to get to her own home in the right time. Jareth couldn't control everything. If he could she would never have made it home the first time. There must be rules that even he was subject to, and so there must be a way for her to win. The Labyrinth was like a test. It threw one challenge after another at you, and if you could overcome them all you passed and you got to go home. Well, she had done it once, and she could do it again, no matter what Jareth and the Labyrinth cooked up between them.

Squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw Sarah took a determined step away from the castle – and hissed with pain as her ankle announced with a mighty throb that it wasn't going to take that kind of treatment. Already she was forgetting the lesson she had just learned. With a grim smile she bent to take stock of her ankle. It was starting to swell, and it felt tender when she gave it an experimental poke.

"Oh . . . brilliant!" Sarah muttered.


	7. Things That Go BUMP in the Night

Sorry, this isn't really a stand-alone chapter. It's not finished, but I haven't got time to finish it. I'm leaving for Africa this weekend. I have manifestly failed to wrap things up before my trip, but this chapter fragment is my pledge to you that I haven't given up on my story - even though it's been more than a month since the last installment. I'll be back at the beginning of August, and hopefully I'll be able to pick up the threads then and turn this into a real chapter. I guess we will see.

UPDATE: This chapter is now finished. I hope you enjoy it, because you won't get another for quite some time. I'm currently in Nairobi where you can find internet hotspots from time to time, but I'm leaving for Sudan tomorrow where there is nadah. Hey, I'd love it if there were some reviews to read when I get back. . .

Chapter Seven: Things That Go BUMP In the Night

Jareth stood in the darkness of the corridor, watching her through the window, with one gloved hand resting against the frame. As she limped away into the darkness a look of irritation crossed his face, followed closely by one of reluctant admiration. Confound the girl! He had gone to a lot of trouble designing this passage. It snaked and looped back on itself elegantly and endlessly. The doors similarly went nowhere. A few led to dead ends, but most led to other eternally weaving corridors, or stairs that climbed or descended forever. It had been designed to be an exercise in futility. It was meant to frustrate her, exhaust her, and, most importantly, keep her inside the castle, at least until morning.

Jareth frowned. He had not meant to allow her to wander in the Labyrinth before dawn. He had spoken no less than the truth: there was nothing friendly about the Labyrinth at night. It had many inhabitants. Some were essentially harmless, like most of those that she had encountered on her last journey through. Others were . . . less harmless. They weren't _evil_ exactly, but nor were they safe, and the night belonged to them. Jareth had given it to them as their time to roam free within the Labyrinth. His other subjects understood this and behaved accordingly, hiding in their dens when the sun set so as not to encounter the creatures that emerged when darkness fell. Even the goblins avoided going out after dark. And here was Sarah, marching off through the goblin city in the dead of night, heedless of the danger.

He sighed. It was the Labyrinth's fault. This window had been none of his doing. The rules had been set long before he ever took up the kingship of the Underground. "There is always a way out in the Labyrinth," he had said, and it was true. If he did not provide one the Labyrinth itself would. He had known it would happen but he had counted on her not figuring it out until morning at the earliest. It had taken her all of two minutes to escape a maze that should have had her wandering for hours. Either she was getting smarter or he was slipping. He shook off this thought quickly, choosing to focus on the situation at hand.

For a moment he considered sending all his creatures back to sleep for one night, but decided against it. Sarah had deliberately ignored his warning, and he had no intention of rewarding her by making everything easy for her. She deserved a good fright or two, and if he cleared the Labyrinth of its nocturnal inhabitants he would also be clearing it of the better part of its obstacles. Knowing Sarah, she would be walking out of the front gate by day-break. If she met one of the more dangerous inhabitants it could always be called to heel before it did her any harm. Besides, the dark-dwellers of the Labyrinth served an important purpose. They held back the even darker creatures that lived outside and which were forever trying to creep in over the Wall – particularly around the northwest corner . . . . Occasionally one of them would manage to do it, despite the vigilance of his night-guards. When this happened Jareth would have to come and banish it to the outside before any great damage was done either to the Labyrinth or to its citizens. However frightening and dangerous his own nocturnal servants were, these outsiders were even more so. They were not his , they showed him no obedience, and over them he had no direct power. They had another master. Sarah would have to be watched carefully – and kept away from the northwest corner if possible. If she was to encounter an intruder he would have to act very quickly indeed.

Sarah's ankle was beginning to really trouble her. Within a very short time it had become stiff and so swollen that she had to loosen the laces of her boot so that the circulation to her foot wasn't cut off. Flexing her ankle had become incredibly painful, so she had to keep it perfectly straight with each step. It wasn't easy. The goblin city was a minefield of rubbish and potholes, and in the darkness it was difficult to judge her footing.

As she limped through the city, Sarah was at first surprised and then progressively unnerved by the silence. The ramshackle houses and towers were all boarded up tightly, the windows were darkened, and no sounds came from within. She would have thought that the entire place was deserted if it weren't for the occasional gleam of yellow eyes peering down at her over a window sill or from behind a ragged curtain. As soon as her eyes met them they would instantly vanish, only to return once she had passed.

The silence seemed to Sarah to gather and intensify the longer it remained unbroken. There were no night noises: neither the chirping of crickets and the squeaking of bats nor the sounds of a city at night. She shivered. Already Jareth's threats seemed to be coming true. This quiet was creepier than almost anything that she had encountered the last time through. Finally, out of desperation she started racking her brains for a song to break the stillness. Something cheerful and rousing and devil-may-care.

She couldn't think of anything. It was as if she had forgotten every song she ever knew. The silence was echoing in her mind.

Sarah shook herself. She couldn't fall apart like this. Nothing had even happened to her yet. She had to show Jareth that she wasn't afraid of him or of his precious Labyrinth. She must _not_ show that she was afraid. For all she knew he was watching her right now. The thought made the back of her neck prickle unpleasantly and she glanced over her shoulder involuntarily. There was nothing there. Still, once the idea had taken hold it wouldn't be shaken off.

Well, Sarah thought grimly, if he _is _watching I might as well take this opportunity to show him exactly what I think of him and his _protection_. She lifted her chin to a more defiant angle and after a determined mental effort found a song that expressed her feelings to perfection.

Never smile at a crocodile

No you can't get friendly with a crocodile

Don't be taken in by his welcome grin

He's imagining how well you'd fit within his skin

Never smile at a crocodile

Never tip your hat and stop to talk a while

Never run

Walk away

Say "good-night"

Not "good-day"

Clear the aisle and never smile at Mr. Crocodile.

She sang as loudly and jauntily as she could muster. By the end of the verse she was even beginning to smile a bit, picturing what Jareth's reaction might be if he should happen to be listening. She drew a deep breath before launching into the second verse, and as she did she heard a sound behind her. Footsteps.

All Sarah's defiance drained away in an instant while the hair rose on the back of her neck. To the ears they were just ordinary footsteps, but she felt herself going cold with disproportionate fear. There was something inexpressibly sinister about the sound. She felt a terrible urge to run away from whoever or whatever was behind her. Looking back she thought she saw a shadow moving slowly among the other, more stationary shades.

She increased her pace, trying to stay calm. She mustn't show fear. She mustn't. If she showed fear she gave him power. The footsteps continued. Their pace remained the same, but their owner seemed to stay the same distance behind her, even as she struggled to walk faster.

Sarah's heart was pounding painfully. Her ankle throbbed terribly as she stumbled along. There had been one night a few months ago – she had tried to forget. She had gone out on a date and left early in disgust. It had been dark, and there were footsteps behind her, just like these. It was the same sound, the same feeling, the same panic bubbling up inside.

Without thinking she cut down a side alley, trying to shake off whoever was following her. The sound continued. Looking back again she thought she glimpsed movement. It looked closer than before.

That night she had tried to shake off pursuit, dodging down side streets. Stopping to listen. Hearing the footsteps. Running on. She had looked so desperately for someone to help her, but there had been no one. Finally she had come across a run-down convenience store where she had found an off-duty cop with a beer-gut and an untidy beard leaning against the counter drinking stale coffee and swapping dirty jokes with the cashier. She'd never been so glad to see anyone before. He had grudgingly taken her to her apartment, obviously thinking that the whole thing was in her head. She hadn't cared. She'd been so happy to get home.

This time there would be no cop and no squad car to carry her out of harm's way. She was alone in the dark with the footsteps. The thought was too much for her. She broke into a clumsy run, panting, fear overriding the pain that shot through her ankle. She didn't get far. She tripped over a pile of bricks, twisting her ankle painfully and sprawling headlong. The footsteps were coming closer, and she couldn't rise. Like a child, she curled up on the hard ground where she lay and closed her eyes tightly as though she believed that if she couldn't see it, it couldn't see her. She could hear it coming closer.

"B'Gad, Brother Knight! There's another one!" piped a shrill voice from somewhere ahead of her. Sarah's eyes snapped open. She knew that voice!

"Begone blaggard! Get thee hence! Or thou shalt feel the point of my rapier!" Sarah raised her head, pushing herself up on one elbow, just in time to see the ludicrous sight of a small fox dressed in battered armour, twirling a rapier and mounted on a shaggy sheepdog, charging past.

"Fly coward! If thou wilt live thou shalt depart forthwith!" it exclaimed excitedly, flourishing the rapier.

"Sir Didymous!" Sarah cried, joyfully.

He stopped in mid-flourish, swinging his mount around "My Lady?"

The sheepdog caught sight of her and bounded back towards her, barking excitedly. Suddenly, out of nowhere a pair of big furry arms reached down and lifted her effortlessly from the ground.

"Sawah!"

"Ludo!"

"My Lady!"

Sarah looked up into the big, furry face of the enormous beast that was cradling her gently in its arms, and promptly burst into tears.

*In case you're interested, the beastie that was following Sarah was a Karakoncolos. In Bulgarian folklore Karakoncolos are ghouls who stalk people in the dark. They are described as "merely troublesome and rather harmless."


	8. Knights Errant

Wow. It has been over a year since my last update. Wow. Grad school leaves precious little time for guilty pleasures like fan fics. How naïve of me to think I could wrap this up in a few months! I hate not finishing things. It doesn't matter whether they're college degrees, or ratty old cross-stitches that I started when I was nine, or fanfics that I started when I was trying to avoid writing a Genetics lab report. I always work my way back around to them eventually. In the past year, I've thought a lot about this story (In hours when I _should_ have been studying biostats or practicing Swahilli) and I've thought up a reasonably satisfactory ending for it. Now I just need to figure out the middle. . . As a promise of things to come, here's a fragment of the next chapter. If you're still there, and still reading, It would be wonderful to get some reviews. Please note that I have done a little editing in previous chapters – if you read the old versions, you should probably re-read them. Particularly chapters 1 and 4. Thanks!

Chapter Eight: Knights Errant

Jareth watched the scene in his crystal with a curled lip. Of all the thrice-cursed ill luck! An entire Labyrinth to wander in, and of course Sarah had to run into that pestilential pair of self-styled knights-errant. For the past four years – ever since she had left in fact – that ridiculous fox and his overstuffed companion had been racketing around the Labyrinth on their quixotic quest to vanquish the forces of evil – or anything that looked remotely like them. They were the cause of a host of complaints. They had panicked the Fireys, stampeded the Manticores, and routed an entire gathering of Spriggans and Knockers. On one notable occasion the little foxy one had dived into the pool in the underground grotto just east of the Goblin City and put the resident Hydra seriously out of temper. It hadn't appreciated being awoken by a poke from a rapier. Fortunately for the fox, his companion had pulled him out and sealed the grotto entrance with a wall of boulders before the Hydra was awake enough to give chase. It had taken a team of twenty Goblins two full days to clear away the debris.

Jareth frowned. He had been amused enough by their antics in the past to leave them be – they helped to keep the Labyrinth lively. This time, however, he was not laughing. The creature that had been stalking Sarah was alarming enough, but completely harmless,* and Jareth was not averse to letting her have a good scare – she might learn from it. He was not pleased that the little beasts had interfered. And now, of course, Sarah would have an escort. He preferred that she be alone. If she became frightened it was his name she should be calling, and, in the event that any rescuing was required, he fully intended to do it himself. With a snap of his wrist he sent the crystal spinning away into nothingness.

Sarah had trouble persuading Ludo to put her down. Her tears had distressed him for a moment, but her fierce hug and the kiss she planted on his cheek had reassured him. His fearsome features beamed with childlike joy, and he kept repeating her name. He seemed to want to carry her around like a Teddy bear. She finally talked him into letting her ride on his shoulder instead.


End file.
